Tonya Sweet
The Anthropocene, the post-human turn, the age of derangement, the age of uncertainty... The socio-ecological polycrisis that we are experiencing is a lot to swallow. As we ruminate about our fears of an uncertain future and hunger for something that might offer a glimmer of hope, anxiety churns and ferments deep inside us. Our attempts to digest the onslaught of unpalatable news leave us bloated with bellies full of bile. Meanwhile, we find ourselves choking on the bitter truth that we are – in fact – part of the problem. The biggest gut punch of all is the realisation that this is a self-inflicted malady: we gorged ourselves to sickness. The self-recognition of our patterns of immoderation manifests as a queasy discomfort at our core; a somatic imprint of imbalance that leaves us doubled over, staring blankly at boundaries trespassed. And, despite being constipated with grief over the calamities taking place presently and for the many injustices yet to come, we consume. We make waste. We fester in the putrid stink of it all.
Although our awareness of The Problem has aroused a collective existential crisis, the anxiety we feel is an individual, embodied experience. Ecological anxiety, or eco-anxiety, is a profound response to the perceived threat of environmental catastrophe. It is an increasingly common diagnosis that, as with many growth-based trends, is projected to climb as climate change impacts become more visible and immediate. This condition, although not clinically recognised as a disorder, manifests both physically and psychologically in individuals who are acutely aware of the environmental crisis.
As with other forms of trauma, our tension-despair-shame-horror-rage is absorbed deep within our bodies, often in our guts. (Is it surprising, then, that colon cancer is on the rise with increasing cases inflicting young adults?) My own psychosomatic turmoil is situated squarely in my digestive tract from where it regularly pings guttural calls of distress. A seed of the polycrisis planted in my core. This feeling is more than just an inescapable reality, but a live connection made of myriad snarled fibres that tether each of us to the Great Unravelling. Despite our obvious entanglements – both in terms of our bowels, and our personal complicity in the multidimensional demise of the planet – it seems an impossible task to hold this all inside. The imbalances too great, the pressure too overwhelming. The catastrophic rupture that we fear, however, has already occurred and is, in fact, the very origin of our current predicament: the division between humanity and nature. It is the estrangement from ourselves.
In an effort to interrogate and better understand the eco-anxiety residing within me, I have been pursuing this awareness via a creative practice informed by my ‘gut feeling’. The question guiding this enquiry is what can the gut teach me about how to navigate the trepidation, uncertainty and anxiety experienced in the context of our ecological crisis? This line of research avails multiple modes of investigation including self-reflective and auto-ethnographic investigation; cross-disciplinary inquiry that draws on the convergence of psychology, physiology, and climate science; and the development of artefacts that enable the formulation of new knowledge via practice-based research. To date, this investigation has taken multiple directions and mediums, including drawings, collages, and sculptures, some of which accompany this text.
In reflecting the embodiment of my anxiety, the research has beckoned for a direct, haptic engagement with materials. In the case of the sculptural forms, this has manifested quite literally in the application of intestines as a medium. Not my own intestines, that is, but bovine gut. Why cow intestines? Not only are they the largest intestines available, but – except for their occasional appearance on regional menus (for instance, Māori terotero or Korean gopchang ) – bovine gut is generally considered a waste by-product. Cows, of course, play a significant role in New Zealand’s sustainability challenges by way of their outsized contribution to greenhouse gas emissions, soil degradation, pollution of surface and groundwater, and destruction of wetland and native lowland forests. For all of these reasons, cow intestines have found their way into this exploration.
Working with intestines affords a highly visceral and illuminating practice. As a material, the entrails are fluid, slimy, and autonomous with expert skills of evasion in being grasped and controlled. With patience and some careful finessing, the tissue finally abides. In their natural, wet state intestines are incredibly flexible and strong, and what appears to be a small piece of tissue can stretch to surprising proportions. Its translucent milky-white surface reveals a variety of subtle webbed textures and, at the perfect ratio of moisture-to-dryness, is willing to self-adhere. When dry, the intestines turn semi-transparent and, having lost their resilience, become taught, crisp and fragile forming a brittle, paper-like skin.
In my quest to understand and navigate the trepidation, uncertainty and anxiety associated with our ecological crisis, the gut emerges not only as a metaphorical but also a tangible site of wisdom and resilience. In many cultures and historical traditions, the gut is considered to be the seat of intuition and wisdom, which explains why we often refer to our “gut instinct”, “gut reaction”, and “gut feelings”. The gut may also be understood to be our second brain: our digestive tracts run on an in-house network of neurons that control its various functions independently of our central nervous system. Although this research is trajectory is at its infancy, I can already attest to the imbedded wisdom that sits alongside my internalised stress. By tuning into the visceral communication of my entrails, and by externalising its voice through my creative practice, my hope is to unearth new insights that transcend conventional understandings of eco-anxiety. Ultimately, this process is not merely an exercise in introspection but a call to action: to confront my fears, transform my behaviours, and foster resilience within myself and my community. The wisdom that I have taken from this research thus far offers a starting point for this process:
- Navigating uncertainty and risk requires presence and patience. Embrace it.
- Decay, disintegration and change are part of life. Accept it.
- The gut absorbs anguish just as it absorbs carbohydrates, proteins, and fats. Fortify your psychological microbiome so that you can digest and excrete it.
- The shit is messy. Dive in.
REFERENCES
Tonya Sweet
Tonya Sweet
The Anthropocene, the post-human turn, the age of derangement, the age of uncertainty... The socio-ecological polycrisis that we are experiencing is a lot to swallow. As we ruminate about our fears of an uncertain future and hunger for something that might offer a glimmer of hope, anxiety churns and ferments deep inside us. Our attempts to digest the onslaught of unpalatable news leave us bloated with bellies full of bile. Meanwhile, we find ourselves choking on the bitter truth that we are – in fact – part of the problem. The biggest gut punch of all is the realisation that this is a self-inflicted malady: we gorged ourselves to sickness. The self-recognition of our patterns of immoderation manifests as a queasy discomfort at our core; a somatic imprint of imbalance that leaves us doubled over, staring blankly at boundaries trespassed. And, despite being constipated with grief over the calamities taking place presently and for the many injustices yet to come, we consume. We make waste. We fester in the putrid stink of it all.
Although our awareness of The Problem has aroused a collective existential crisis, the anxiety we feel is an individual, embodied experience. Ecological anxiety, or eco-anxiety, is a profound response to the perceived threat of environmental catastrophe. It is an increasingly common diagnosis that, as with many growth-based trends, is projected to climb as climate change impacts become more visible and immediate. This condition, although not clinically recognised as a disorder, manifests both physically and psychologically in individuals who are acutely aware of the environmental crisis.
As with other forms of trauma, our tension-despair-shame-horror-rage is absorbed deep within our bodies, often in our guts. (Is it surprising, then, that colon cancer is on the rise with increasing cases inflicting young adults?) My own psychosomatic turmoil is situated squarely in my digestive tract from where it regularly pings guttural calls of distress. A seed of the polycrisis planted in my core. This feeling is more than just an inescapable reality, but a live connection made of myriad snarled fibres that tether each of us to the Great Unravelling. Despite our obvious entanglements – both in terms of our bowels, and our personal complicity in the multidimensional demise of the planet – it seems an impossible task to hold this all inside. The imbalances too great, the pressure too overwhelming. The catastrophic rupture that we fear, however, has already occurred and is, in fact, the very origin of our current predicament: the division between humanity and nature. It is the estrangement from ourselves.
In an effort to interrogate and better understand the eco-anxiety residing within me, I have been pursuing this awareness via a creative practice informed by my ‘gut feeling’. The question guiding this enquiry is what can the gut teach me about how to navigate the trepidation, uncertainty and anxiety experienced in the context of our ecological crisis? This line of research avails multiple modes of investigation including self-reflective and auto-ethnographic investigation; cross-disciplinary inquiry that draws on the convergence of psychology, physiology, and climate science; and the development of artefacts that enable the formulation of new knowledge via practice-based research. To date, this investigation has taken multiple directions and mediums, including drawings, collages, and sculptures, some of which accompany this text.
In reflecting the embodiment of my anxiety, the research has beckoned for a direct, haptic engagement with materials. In the case of the sculptural forms, this has manifested quite literally in the application of intestines as a medium. Not my own intestines, that is, but bovine gut. Why cow intestines? Not only are they the largest intestines available, but – except for their occasional appearance on regional menus (for instance, Māori terotero or Korean gopchang ) – bovine gut is generally considered a waste by-product. Cows, of course, play a significant role in New Zealand’s sustainability challenges by way of their outsized contribution to greenhouse gas emissions, soil degradation, pollution of surface and groundwater, and destruction of wetland and native lowland forests. For all of these reasons, cow intestines have found their way into this exploration.
Working with intestines affords a highly visceral and illuminating practice. As a material, the entrails are fluid, slimy, and autonomous with expert skills of evasion in being grasped and controlled. With patience and some careful finessing, the tissue finally abides. In their natural, wet state intestines are incredibly flexible and strong, and what appears to be a small piece of tissue can stretch to surprising proportions. Its translucent milky-white surface reveals a variety of subtle webbed textures and, at the perfect ratio of moisture-to-dryness, is willing to self-adhere. When dry, the intestines turn semi-transparent and, having lost their resilience, become taught, crisp and fragile forming a brittle, paper-like skin.
In my quest to understand and navigate the trepidation, uncertainty and anxiety associated with our ecological crisis, the gut emerges not only as a metaphorical but also a tangible site of wisdom and resilience. In many cultures and historical traditions, the gut is considered to be the seat of intuition and wisdom, which explains why we often refer to our “gut instinct”, “gut reaction”, and “gut feelings”. The gut may also be understood to be our second brain: our digestive tracts run on an in-house network of neurons that control its various functions independently of our central nervous system. Although this research is trajectory is at its infancy, I can already attest to the imbedded wisdom that sits alongside my internalised stress. By tuning into the visceral communication of my entrails, and by externalising its voice through my creative practice, my hope is to unearth new insights that transcend conventional understandings of eco-anxiety. Ultimately, this process is not merely an exercise in introspection but a call to action: to confront my fears, transform my behaviours, and foster resilience within myself and my community. The wisdom that I have taken from this research thus far offers a starting point for this process:
- Navigating uncertainty and risk requires presence and patience. Embrace it.
- Decay, disintegration and change are part of life. Accept it.
- The gut absorbs anguish just as it absorbs carbohydrates, proteins, and fats. Fortify your psychological microbiome so that you can digest and excrete it.
- The shit is messy. Dive in.
Tonya Sweet
The Anthropocene, the post-human turn, the age of derangement, the age of uncertainty... The socio-ecological polycrisis that we are experiencing is a lot to swallow. As we ruminate about our fears of an uncertain future and hunger for something that might offer a glimmer of hope, anxiety churns and ferments deep inside us. Our attempts to digest the onslaught of unpalatable news leave us bloated with bellies full of bile. Meanwhile, we find ourselves choking on the bitter truth that we are – in fact – part of the problem. The biggest gut punch of all is the realisation that this is a self-inflicted malady: we gorged ourselves to sickness. The self-recognition of our patterns of immoderation manifests as a queasy discomfort at our core; a somatic imprint of imbalance that leaves us doubled over, staring blankly at boundaries trespassed. And, despite being constipated with grief over the calamities taking place presently and for the many injustices yet to come, we consume. We make waste. We fester in the putrid stink of it all.
Although our awareness of The Problem has aroused a collective existential crisis, the anxiety we feel is an individual, embodied experience. Ecological anxiety, or eco-anxiety, is a profound response to the perceived threat of environmental catastrophe. It is an increasingly common diagnosis that, as with many growth-based trends, is projected to climb as climate change impacts become more visible and immediate. This condition, although not clinically recognised as a disorder, manifests both physically and psychologically in individuals who are acutely aware of the environmental crisis.
As with other forms of trauma, our tension-despair-shame-horror-rage is absorbed deep within our bodies, often in our guts. (Is it surprising, then, that colon cancer is on the rise with increasing cases inflicting young adults?) My own psychosomatic turmoil is situated squarely in my digestive tract from where it regularly pings guttural calls of distress. A seed of the polycrisis planted in my core. This feeling is more than just an inescapable reality, but a live connection made of myriad snarled fibres that tether each of us to the Great Unravelling. Despite our obvious entanglements – both in terms of our bowels, and our personal complicity in the multidimensional demise of the planet – it seems an impossible task to hold this all inside. The imbalances too great, the pressure too overwhelming. The catastrophic rupture that we fear, however, has already occurred and is, in fact, the very origin of our current predicament: the division between humanity and nature. It is the estrangement from ourselves.
In an effort to interrogate and better understand the eco-anxiety residing within me, I have been pursuing this awareness via a creative practice informed by my ‘gut feeling’. The question guiding this enquiry is what can the gut teach me about how to navigate the trepidation, uncertainty and anxiety experienced in the context of our ecological crisis? This line of research avails multiple modes of investigation including self-reflective and auto-ethnographic investigation; cross-disciplinary inquiry that draws on the convergence of psychology, physiology, and climate science; and the development of artefacts that enable the formulation of new knowledge via practice-based research. To date, this investigation has taken multiple directions and mediums, including drawings, collages, and sculptures, some of which accompany this text.
In reflecting the embodiment of my anxiety, the research has beckoned for a direct, haptic engagement with materials. In the case of the sculptural forms, this has manifested quite literally in the application of intestines as a medium. Not my own intestines, that is, but bovine gut. Why cow intestines? Not only are they the largest intestines available, but – except for their occasional appearance on regional menus (for instance, Māori terotero or Korean gopchang ) – bovine gut is generally considered a waste by-product. Cows, of course, play a significant role in New Zealand’s sustainability challenges by way of their outsized contribution to greenhouse gas emissions, soil degradation, pollution of surface and groundwater, and destruction of wetland and native lowland forests. For all of these reasons, cow intestines have found their way into this exploration.
Working with intestines affords a highly visceral and illuminating practice. As a material, the entrails are fluid, slimy, and autonomous with expert skills of evasion in being grasped and controlled. With patience and some careful finessing, the tissue finally abides. In their natural, wet state intestines are incredibly flexible and strong, and what appears to be a small piece of tissue can stretch to surprising proportions. Its translucent milky-white surface reveals a variety of subtle webbed textures and, at the perfect ratio of moisture-to-dryness, is willing to self-adhere. When dry, the intestines turn semi-transparent and, having lost their resilience, become taught, crisp and fragile forming a brittle, paper-like skin.
In my quest to understand and navigate the trepidation, uncertainty and anxiety associated with our ecological crisis, the gut emerges not only as a metaphorical but also a tangible site of wisdom and resilience. In many cultures and historical traditions, the gut is considered to be the seat of intuition and wisdom, which explains why we often refer to our “gut instinct”, “gut reaction”, and “gut feelings”. The gut may also be understood to be our second brain: our digestive tracts run on an in-house network of neurons that control its various functions independently of our central nervous system. Although this research is trajectory is at its infancy, I can already attest to the imbedded wisdom that sits alongside my internalised stress. By tuning into the visceral communication of my entrails, and by externalising its voice through my creative practice, my hope is to unearth new insights that transcend conventional understandings of eco-anxiety. Ultimately, this process is not merely an exercise in introspection but a call to action: to confront my fears, transform my behaviours, and foster resilience within myself and my community. The wisdom that I have taken from this research thus far offers a starting point for this process:
- Navigating uncertainty and risk requires presence and patience. Embrace it.
- Decay, disintegration and change are part of life. Accept it.
- The gut absorbs anguish just as it absorbs carbohydrates, proteins, and fats. Fortify your psychological microbiome so that you can digest and excrete it.
- The shit is messy. Dive in.
Tonya Sweet
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